


Where Love Grows Free and Wild

by Lorelainoir



Category: Secret Garden--Norman/Simon, The Secret Garden
Genre: AU Lily lives, F/M, Family, Romance, musical-based
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2020-10-27 01:37:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20752193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorelainoir/pseuds/Lorelainoir
Summary: Musical AU. A weakened Lily survives Colin's birth.





	1. There I'll Keep You Safe to Race You to the Top of the Morning

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing and am making no money, though lines from the musical's cast recording are used--standard disclaimer. This was supposed to be a series of vignettes on select events if Lily had lived, but it quickly grew beyond the word count for that, and I liked all the words, so you're getting a full-on fic. This will follow the musical timeline with necessary tweaks, and doesn't refer to my last fic, though a small moment may make a bit more sense if you read it.

"You're bound to make the doctor jealous if your plan works, you know," said Martha, skittering about the nursery like a bird trapped indoors.

Lily straightened Colin's little blue coat. To the sometimes chamber, sometimes scullery maid Lady Lily Craven's sensible idea to give her child sometime outdoors had transformed her from a great lady that needed to be tiptoed around, to a trusty lass who she could talk to however she liked as long as it was in an admiring tone. Lily didn't mind the frankness, it felt a little, she supposed, like having a younger sister.

"Colin and I will be fine. And if Doctor Craven rages at you about it, Martha, tell him to find me."

"Yes, madam. If it's all right for me to say, I think it's high time you started taken the wee lad out. He looks too pale even for a babe, and even village parents take their little ones out at eight months."

"Sensible, like your mother," Lily laughed, shifting the bag containing a blanket, bottles, a tatty dog, and fresh napkins more comfortably on her shoulder, before setting out to her garden, Colin wrapped snug in her arms.

She wouldn't sit in the tree that rose above the wall of her plot. Whatever Neville thought of her "kind but medically reckless idea", Colin could see birds perfectly well from the ground. She laid her blanket away from where Ben was seeing to a stubborn patch of violets, and sat with her son as he flailed about on this new, springy surface.

She encouraged him as he dipped his little hands in the earth, grubbying them with soil, then did the same with the toy dog, but stopped him from putting either of them in his mouth. She talked to him through the morning and the start of the afternoon, naming the flowers and types of birds and insects; rocked him, changed him, and fed him lunch, depending upon whether he cried or fussed.

When the task of keeping his eyelids open proved too much of a feat, Lily brought him back inside for a nap. Mrs. Medlock and a group of delivery men stood at the door, seeing to that week's order of food. Every able-bodied man they had also stood at attention, like hunting dogs that only needed the word to race after game.

"Madam," she gasped, looking stunned not at the sight of Lily, but the child dozing in her arms. Colin stirred with a discontented gurgle, and Lily hummed his lullaby.

When he'd settled she asked, "Were all these people going to look for us, Mrs. Medlock?" She glanced at the grocers. "Not counting these men?"

"We were concerned, madam. The maid said-"

"Ah." Lily peered into the gathering.

Martha stood at the back, face flushed with guilt and fear, as little Dickon materialized from behind her skirts, watching with a calmness that made him seem a hundred.

"I hope Martha hasn't been punished, or let go, or any nonsense like that, simply for following my instructions." She laid a delicate stress on the final words.

"Certainly not, madam."

Not yet, Lily surmised, swallowing a sigh at all the ballyhoo. The manor would fall apart without Medlock, but she was used to obeying Archie or Neville, the latter giving more orders than the former before her marriage, though Archie's authority eclipsed his younger brother's.

Usually she and the older woman got along well enough; she had heard herself described as sweet the day she and Archie returned from their honeymoon in Switzerland, and the fastidious housekeeper wasn't one to mince words. However, Sarah Ann Medlock respected authority and the proper, detailed way of things above all else, and in her view a doctor outweighed a mother.

Lily knew all too well how difference of opinion could lead to rifts that were seemingly beyond repair (Rose had never responded to the announcement she had sent about Colin's birth), and she was determined to have this woman on her side.

"I find it very telling, Mrs. Medlock, that your concern for Colin's health didn't extend to letting me know anything was amiss," she said coldly. "I would rather not speculate about what that means. I would not be moved from marrying your employer, and unless being out and playing every now and then visibly worsens Colin's health, I will not be moved from this either. If you feel your opinion of that will have you undermining me in favor of Dr. Craven's treatment, then you will leave this house with what is owed to you."

"No-"

The objection she had expected, but not that it would be made on such a wounded sound.

Some of the hardness ebbed from her eyes and voice as she said, "Then this can be our first and last disagreement. Is Dr. Craven back from the village?"

"No, madam. And Lord Craven has not returned from his meeting with the school."

"No, I thought he wouldn't." The draconian school that had destroyed her first garden and given Archie the nerve to give her her second was on the brink of financial ruin, and had reached out to the estate owner, who felt no qualms about letting it tip into the abyss. "Thank you, Mrs. Medlock. On with your work, all of you."

With two imperious sweeps of her arm, Medlock banished the men off to the servants' entrance and sent three young kitchen lads cowering in the shade of the house after them. Lily smiled at them, and a boy tripped over air. Martha scampered into Misselthwaite like a frightened squirrel, while Dickon flashed Lily an impish, approving grin before gazing out at the maze.

"Stay where Ben can keep an eye on you, Dickon," she called after him, the entrance of the manor letting her voice carry. "He's finished working my garden, so there's no reason for him not to see you about."

"Aye, Miss Lily."

***

NINE YEARS LATER

Colin let out a whoop of laughter as Archie scooped him up, and tossing him onto his shoulders, charged through the door of the private dining room. Though at ten he was growing bigger, bolder and stronger every day, it was one of the boy's favorite places. His peels of laughter filled the cavernous halls as he was rushed through Misselthwaite Manor, out through the extensive garden maze, and to a screen of ivy, broken by the shape of a large key protruding from the door.

He had taken his first steps in this square garden, under the gazes of his loving mother, overwhelmed father, and astounded uncle. It was special and part of home, a place to play and see the beauty of flowers after hard work, but not, he felt with no disappointment, something that belonged to him. His mother loved the garden in a way no one else did—not even Ben, who kept the maze from growing wild over the house—though they all helped plant and tend to its various seeds and blooms, or could suggest new ones that would come from far-off places.

Now, as his father lifted him down, he watched his mother, fingernails so covered in dirt they would have made Mrs. Medlock faint. "If you're going to play hide-and-seek, keep away from the tree. It needs doctoring."

There were several trees, an entire rose bower, but they all knew which tree she meant. The lone one nearest the wall, where robins liked to build nests, and whose existence had let his father know the soil would be rich enough to nourish anything he tried.

"Has Weatherstaff seen it?" Archie asked her.

"Yes. He says it's not going to be on the cheap."

"That doesn't matter." Archie smiled as Dickon rapped lightly on the door. The boys locked good-naturedly competitive gazes and raced to the opposite end of the garden—Dickon was taller, but Colin was the faster runner.

Lily poured water from the watering can over her hands with a mock frown. Eleven years of marriage, and her husband would still give her all he owned or the world, and made her unreasonable requests, like restoring a tree that had been in the walled space longer than she, sound like inevitable maintenance only she'd seen fit to remind him of. Like his beautiful eyes, this wellspring of kindness and trust in her decision still left her breathless.

"Eventually Colin will think all he needs to do is ask and he'll get whatever he likes."

"That's why he has a very strict governess who cannot be charmed by children."

"Silly me, I thought we hired her for her intelligence."

***

At bedtime Archie sat beside Colin's bed, a book of fairy tales resting on his lap. They had finished them ages ago, but a story required a book even if the story being told was one of fantasy grounded in truth.

"Now let's see, Colin. When we left off last night the hideous dragon had carried the maid to his cave by moonlight. He gnashed his teeth and breathed his fire; the earth quaked and we trembled in fear."

Lily perched on the foot of the bed as Colin trembled, pulling the quilt up to his chin. Her part came afterward, the old lullaby used to curb any lingering suspense in the narrative. The summary was for her benefit; she'd missed last night's story when her visit with Neville about a slight pain in her elbow ran long.

"Colin has a mathematics test in the morning. Should we save this one for tomorrow night?" she teased.

"No!" Colin begged.

At Lily's nod, Archie continued, soft voice rising and falling with the melodic cadence he took on even when reading aloud. "I said, 'someone must save this sweet raven haired maiden, though surely the cost will be steep'. So we lads all drew lots, our insides tied in knots. And I won, and the rest went to sleep. So, I picked up my staff and I followed the trail of his smoke to the mouth of the cave. And I bid him come out, 'yea forsooth', I did shout: 'ye fool dragon be gone or behave'."

Colin stared with rapt attention at his father.

"And then under my breath I uttered a charm said to make the worst fiend become kind, 'knaves and knights of dire plights now diminish his sights'. And it worked, and the dragon went blind. Then he charged off the cliff, howling mad, and he died, and the maiden accepted my ring..."

Lily smiled as the Colin of the fairy tale went on to help his father hide a great treasure from a greedy giant, only to find another dragon had come to scorch the land, forcing them to seek aid from the wizard who lived on the hill. Before she sang of flowers safe from cold, the story paused with them hoping to sway him with one of the maiden's rare sky-flowers, which gave strength to even the best of magical arts.


	2. Come to My Bit of Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One relationship misses its chance for betterment, but tragedy allows the Craven family to grow a little bigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you SeasCatchingFire and SoldadoInvernal for the WONDERFUL comments!!

The letters arrived in the plainest box one could imagine, despite the stationary inside it being engraved and very grand. The postmark was from India, and the only explanation were the two notes pinned to the top of the stack of thick, creamy envelopes.

The first read: I am sorry if you are not the Lily in these letters, but I could think of no other way to follow my mistress's wishes. The second, in Rose's familiar handwriting, read Maya: These are taking up space and therefore no good to anyone. See they're out of the house.

"This Maya had better hope no one ever learns what she's done," Archie said when Lily revealed what had made her so absorbed she'd let her omelet grow cold.

"Unless Maya knew Rose meant for them to be mailed. I wonder why she sent them all at once?"

"Because your sister, like her namesake," Neville began, but took a quelling sip of tea at Lily's look.

"The pair of you," she forced a smile, "there are worse crimes than making me a little upset every now and then."

Both men shared a look as Colin asked, "Why have I never met Aunt Rose? Or Uncle Albert? Or cousin Mary?"

"India is far away, sweetheart," said Lily.

"So is Paris, but we've all been there."

Lily gazed distractedly at the letters.

"Mother?"

"Speaking of which," said Archie, grabbing the last eclair, splitting it in two, and giving his son the larger piece, "shouldn't you be practicing your French."

"Yes, but I want to know why Aunt Rose-"

"You heard your father," said Neville sternly.

Colin finished the treat and dashed off to his French book. Discarding the notes for the servants to clear away with the breakfast things as Archie and Neville began to argue about how much like their father Neville could sometimes be with his nephew, Lily took the bundle to the library where she and Archie did the household accounts.

As she spread the opened letters out over the mahogany desk, she saw the rich stationary had increased her expectations: there were only three. The first was seven years old, suggesting Archie had been right to think this a servant's mistake.

Dear Lily,

I swore I'd never see you again if you married Archibald Craven, and being in India has been a good way for me to keep that vow. Which doesn't mean I don't think of you, raising your son in that gloomy place... especially now as my daughter lies ill as I write this. I suppose that still makes you the lucky one; you walked into any trouble knowingly even as you swooned.

It's nothing serious, Mary's illness. Doctors' have assured Albert and I of that, but she's so pale the most prominent feature are her eyes, the exact color and shape as yours. I cannot help but think of you...

The letter went on to relay Rose's memories of their own girlhood ailments, particularly a time at boarding school when Lily had gotten sick after walking in a spring storm and Rose had nursed her through the night, before a cry from Mary brought it to an abrupt close.

The second letter was three years old.

Dear Lily,

I am ill, meaning I cannot attend the first dinner party of the year, and am therefore even more irritable than if I'd gotten sick any other day, and Mary is ill as well, but from something else. My perfect Albert brought us each a rose today; I was suppose to wear mine on my hat, but now it sits almost bobbing in water in a vase. I thought of you, how you would treat a flower in this hot place where it won't live long.

The air here smells of spices, curry and saffron. You always tolerated cooking more than I did, though I'm sure you prefer, as I do, having a staff to manage such things now. I expect the one area where you still hold sway is that garden Archibald gave to you.

It really was the only thing worth seeing on that entire estate. Truth to tell, I'm still a little irritated you wouldn't let Albert and I have our reception in it. If only I'd known how relatively soon we were to leave for India, then I would have gotten my way.

There are no gardens in India, but I think you would find other beauties to sate you. Perhaps one day you and Colin could visit, your husband too... if someone does not have to stay behind and manage the estate, though I suppose that could be left to his brother.

I never understood why you didn't marry that one, Lily. You're children would have been beautiful and I think his love for you could have been more than concern for his brother's happiness if you'd made it clear you'd set your cap for him.

But I am rambling, and wasting light on this nonsense. You and I have never turned from the courses we've set ourselves, and in truth I hope Mary inherits both my and her aunt's stubbornness.

There was no signature on either of the letters, and Lily could easily imagine, worried about her little girl and bad-tempered, Rose viewing her far-flung foolish sister like a diary. Albeit one she could air old opinions to.

The last letter was a year old and simply read: Albert told Mary there were places where roses grow in fountains. Three isn't very many people to stay in that horrible house, I shouldn't think.

***

DEAR ROSE ALBERT AND MARY,

PLEASE COME TO MISSELTHWAITE MANOR IN THE COUNTY OF YORKSHIRE, ENGLAND, AT YOUR EARLIEST CONVENIENCE STOP NO CHILD SHOULD GO THEIR WHOLE LIFE WITHOUT SEEING FOUNTAINS OF ROSES STOP

YOUR HOPEFUL (AUNT) LILY

***

"They're asking if they can send the girl here. It seems the will names you as Mary's guardian," said Neville, looking up from the lawyer's correspondence at a swath of Lily's hair that had fallen over her face. "Specifically, Lady Lily Craven and her husband."

Archie bit off a chuckle, and leaned back into the sitting room sofa.

Lily had been unable to read any further after learning of the deaths of her older sister, brother-in-law, and all their servants. Somehow the cholera outbreak had spared her ten-year-old niece, who she only remembered by turns as a squalling or serious infant.

Sharp, beautiful Rose she could remember more of. She'd championed her singing and dancing lessons, tolerated a love of gardening because it produced pretty flowers, and despised Lily's choice of husband.

Lily had always liked Captain Albert Lennox for his quick mind, open adoration of what he thought dear (Rose and Mary) or underappreciated (Archie's kindness), and he managed—had managed—to smooth Rose's pricklier edges. That last letter, more a note really, tucked in with all the rest that had prompted her unanswered telegram, had been because of him after all.

Lily raised her head from Archie's tear-soaked nightshirt. "Of course she will come here." Her voice was resolute, if clogged from crying.

"We should order the child some clothes," said Archie. "She should have a choice on whether to dress in black to wander the house like a lost soul, or to play in something more colorful."

"Will the clothes, what she brings from home, be a problem?" Lily asked Neville. "Should we expect Mary to still be recovering?"

"No, the disease spreads through water... and there isn't anything about the girl's health here. I suppose we'll see when she arrives."

"She was often ill as a child," said Archie as he brushed back Lily's hair, "perhaps that helped her build strength against it."

Neville made a noncommittal sound. "If you like I can collect her-"

"I'll be taking charge of Mary," Lily cut in. "If she'll have me. I'll pick my niece up and bring her here, at least."

"Alone?" asked Neville.

"Were you going to suggest a companion for yourself?" Archie asked.

"I only meant that we do not know what the child is used to," hastened Neville. "If she is unsettled by our lack of propriety, particularly with what you've said about Rose's standards, Lily-"

"I highly doubt her standards for servants and fine things were applied to her only child," said Lily.

Both men stared at her.

"I have few doubts," Lily amended, sounding less cheery. "So in case I'm wrong we'll have Mrs. Medlock warn the rest of the staff to mind their tongues around Mary. The poor thing must be miserable enough as it is."

***

At the bustling docks she greeted the motionless, sour-looking little girl by name. "Mary Lennox. I'm your Aunt Lily. I don't suppose you remember me."

"No. I've never even seen a picture of you, or any of my mother's family." It was a fact, not an apology.

"Well, when I last saw you, you had your father's face, your mother's hair, and my eyes. All of which you still do. I understand if you mind how expressive the eyes are, I can't keep a secret to save my life."

"I've never kept a secret," said Mary.

"Not even a surprise for your mother or father?"

The frown that clearly said Aunt Lily was an idiot who didn't know how things worked made hollows in the girl's already-thin, too-pale face. Shrugging the moment off with a warm smile, Lily took her hand and lead the way across the road into the train station.

"Would you like to know something about where you'll be living?" she asked once they settled themselves in a first-class carriage.

"Would I?" Mary challenged. She sat very still, like a very proper child—like Rose in their youth, Lily thought with a pang, trying to be grown-up in public. In her full mourning black she looked very old and wearied by life, but as a direct result of her life, rather than grief.

It reminded Lily forcibly of the day she'd met Archie. It hadn't been love at first sight all those years ago, not for her. Not with a man who stood at the gate to her garden looking on the brink of exhaustion and asking for a rest like he was requesting to touch the clouds. She'd offered him kindness both because it was her nature, and because he had so clearly not expected it, but it was only after their shared meal and polite conversation that her heart had gone out to him in tentative friendship.

Rose and Albert's daughter already had her heart, but Lily sensed she'd be a harder conquest than a lonely Archie had been.

"It's perfectly all right if you'd rather not. It's the only house around the moor for miles, so there's no chance of you forgetting where it is. But it's a very large estate, and I'd hate for you to get lost trying to find us all for breakfast."

"I won't. A servant will bring me breakfast. Haven't you arranged an Aya for me?"

Lily stopped smiling. "No. Misselthwaite Manor doesn't have personal attendants. Your mother and I grew up Yorkshire and your uncle and I see not a thing wrong with dressing ourselves. Even your cousin dresses himself."

Mary blinked.

"You must have had to dress yourself on the boat?"

"No. I had ship people for that."

"Well, they were either very kind or very easily cowed by your stern tone. You take... took... after your mother."

"But doesn't my Uncle Archibald need a manservant to dress him? I heard my mother say he's a hunchback."

"That's true, but it doesn't stop him from putting on a tailored coat."

"Are you and Uncle Archibald going to be my mother and father now?"

"We are your guardians. And we're going to do everything we can to give you a happy, safe, loving home."

They disembarked into Thwaite Station in silence. A carriage awaited them outside, and Mary didn't speak again till the horses were well into their stride.

"How old is my cousin?"

"Colin's your age, though to be truthful you're the senior by a few months. I will not have him bullied or ordered about, but I will understand if you lord the fact over him every now and then. Goodness knows your mother did when we were girls. You'll be eleven in a few months?"

Mary nodded stiffly.

"Well, we will have to do something about that."

Mary didn't speak again until they were jostled along the moor. "Is it always so ugly here?"

"It depends on how you look at it. I think miles and miles of wild land that nothing grows on but heather and gorse and broom, and nothing lives on but wild ponies and sheep can be terribly exotic. Though I'm glad to be traveling it in a carriage at night."

"What is that awful howling sound?"

"The wind blowing through the bushes. It's called wuthering. It sounds like the sea to me, waves rushing out into the horizon. But can you spot that tiny light, far across there?"

"I see it!" Mary exclaimed, voice ringing with pride.

"That's the gate. If you ever stay out late out here that light will burn all hours."

Mary craned her neck from the window to gape at her. "Why would I do that."

Inside the house all the adults of the family and the servants waited to welcome them.

"Hello, Mary. I'm your Uncle Archibald, but please call me Uncle Archie. And this is my brother, Dr. Craven."

"How do you do," said Mary, prim and proper and utterly devoid of any desire to truly know.

"You look worn-out, child," said Neville as Mary's eyes flitted across both brothers shoulders.

"Wouldst thou like summot to eat, Miss?" piped up Martha.

"They ate on the train," hissed Mrs. Medlock, in impeccable English despite her Yorkshire accent. Lily shook her head discretely at the housekeeper; Mary would learn the new vocabulary eventually even if she never chose to speak it, and the offer had been kindly meant.

"You must be exhausted," said Archie smoothly, "Colin went to bed half an hour ago."

"I would like to go to bed now."

With an apologetic look at his wife, Archie and Neville guided Mary through the sea of welcoming faces to her room, while Lily slipped away after a "Goodnight, Mary", to look in on Colin. Her little boy was feigning sleep, his body held too rigidly when she leant to brush hair off his forehead.

"If you want to see your cousin you'll have to wait till morning. She's tired from her journey."

"All right."

"Did the brave knights rescue the fairy child from the witch tonight?"

"No. The older knight fell ill and is resting at the home of a flower seller. Will you sing?"

"Didn't your father sing to you?"

"Yes, but we both agree you're the best singer in this house."

"Oh, am I?" Lily giggled.

Indulging her child was wrong, Lily thought, banishing the slight worry with a low breath. If Colin wasn't a spoiled brat by now, one little moment of altered regularity wasn't going to change him over night. Besides, as Archie had known, it had gutted her to miss her part of the bedtime ritual.

Mary heard someone singing in the house. She didn't know who it could be, but the voice was a woman's, clear and rich, and making the notes sound as easy as breathing.

It would have made her curious enough to wake up completely, except that the song the woman sang was familiar. Father had sung it to her all the times she was sick, although Mother said the lullaby came from her family, and she'd been singing it when the Major and his men had found her and ruined her life. It was home, or at least a small part of it.

So she lay in her room, alone, but a little less lost than when she'd settled under the covers only moments before. And as it always had, the lullaby helped sleep to claim her.

***

"The skipping rope is certainly improving her health," Neville told Lily and Archie as they looked down on Mary from an upper window, twirling the rope above her head outside the doors to the house, "but it could be considerably better."

"Colin doesn't mind sharing a governess," Archie reported. "And she says the girl is reasonably talented. She needs to devote a little more concentration to words that sound the same but are spelled differently when writing, but who doesn't every now and again."

"I just wish," Lily breathed.

Archie took her hand. Neville's gaze bored into the window; the girl had vanished into the maze.

"She asked me the other day if her father was a ghost now. If everyone who dies becomes a ghost," Archie sighed. "Apparently the governess couldn't tell her."

"We should offer her a pay raise," said Lily.

"What did you tell her?" asked Neville, still avoiding looking at the pair.

"That they're only a ghost if someone alive is still holding onto them. I have no idea if it worked."

"The problem is we're just throwing things at her. Colin's lessons, a bedroom with a sitting room, which she's not going to need until she's a little older and starts privately entertaining-"

"Is there any way to avoid that?" Archie cut in nervously.

"She needs something that," But she broke off at the sight of Ben waving up at them. When he had her attention, Ben pointed with his chin to Mary, looking as though she'd lift off the ground if she only could to follow the just-visible flight of a well-known robin.

A small smile turned up the corners of Lily's mouth as she recalled the last words she had ever received from her sister.

***

"Where are we going, Aunt Lily?" Mary asked imperiously.

"Wait till you see! Have you ever wondered where that lone robin lives?"

"I suppose."

"Well, I know. He lives in a garden full of flowers. Your Uncle Archie, Colin and I all take care of it, and a few trusted friends, but it would be lovely if I had another girl to help me. Oh," Lily giggled, "with the flowers, I mean, but the robins sometimes need a bit of a hand. You could visit it whenever you wished, to love as well as work in."

"Why would anyone love a garden?"

Lily stopped and turned to scrutinize her niece. "When the people we love die it can be very, very hard to find reasons to care about living ourselves. Food doesn't taste the same, and things simply happen to us whether we care or not. But gardens are full of life; flowers turning into what they're meant to be from perfect little buds, seeds that are going to take patience and time to grow, robins and their babes flying about who trust us to stretch out a hand if they fall before their wings catch them up. Well, at least the ones who speak proper Yorkshire and know you is took a greatly fancy to them; they're the only ones that can chaunt a proper tongue."

Mary gawped at her, open mouthed. Eyes twinkling, Lily cupped Mary's chin and pushed it up till her teeth clicked together.

"I think you will like it," she simplified, letting go of the girl's face.

"Are there roses?" Mary asked in a small voice.

"Fountains of them," Lily whispered, swallowing down the sudden lump in her throat.

Lily tipped onto the toes of her shoes, bouncing slightly, then broke into a run through the remainder of the maze.

"Aunt Lily! Where are you going!" Mary yelled.

"Follow and see," she called over her shoulder.

"But you have to wait for me," Mary grumbled as she rounded a corner to find her aunt doing just that, only to bound ahead a little ways once more.

"Now where is it?" Lily muttered, finally stopping before a hedge of ivy after so many twists and turns Mary had lost count.

"Don't you know where we're going?" Mary demanded.

"Yes, but whenever I have to find the door it's like discovering the secret all over again."

Mary's eyes shone. "A secret? But you said you couldn't keep a secret to save your life."

"I'm showing you, aren't I?" She pulled a gleaming key from somewhere in the ivy and turned it, letting a door swing open and stepping back to let Mary walk through first.

Mary gazed around her in wonder. Slowly, as though afraid they'd vanish, she crept toward the trees and stretched out a hand to brush her fingers against the petals of a red rose, than a yellow, pink, and white one.

"Those others nearest the trees are daisies. And over on the other side are lilies—they don't smell as nice as the roses. And here are crocuses, I only plant purple and ruby ones. These are pansies, and iris—they're the tallest. And I've always loved snowdrops... oh, sweetheart!"

Tears ran down Mary's face, and Lily wrapped her in a hug until the little shoulders stopped shaking.

"I'm not crying because I'm sad," said Mary, in the same small voice that she'd asked about roses. "It's beautiful."

"I'm not angry that you cried here. You need a spot to rest in and think about your parents and everyone you miss back in India, and cry over them if you feel like it. Now, that can be the library or your room, or anywhere you wish. But I'd like you to consider my garden."

"It's like the song," Mary murmured, wiping her eyes on her coat sleeve.

"The what?"

"Clusters of crocus," Mary sang haltingly, "purple and gold. Blankets of pansies,"

"In from the cold," Lily joined in, taking the higher key the lullaby was written in.

They finished together. "Lilies and iris, safe from the chill. Safe in my garden. Snowdrops so still."

Lily held Mary close, half laughing, half crying as the hazel eyes that were indeed the mirror of her own gazed adoringly up at her. A breeze lifted and tangled their hair.

Finally they pulled apart, setting off to walk about the garden, Lily taking up her explanation as though nothing had happened.

"What if I wanted to come here every day?" Mary asked when they were back under the trees, and Lily had hoisted Mary up onto her favorite branch.

She picked up a small trowel from where it leant against the wall. "Then I'd better start thinking of things for you to do every day."


	3. I Longed for the Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A secret comes to light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took a lot of drafts and character examination, but I think I finally have it true to my plotted intent, and to how things would shake out for the Pov character. And then there was my day job on top of all that! Anyway, hope you find something to like!

The girl had brought a picture of Lily, sitting in her garden's oldest tree, from six thousand miles away. With Mary's permission it had been added to the collection of other family commemorations in the foyer: the picture of Lily that used to hang in Colin's bedroom, his parents' and brothers' wedding photos, his own doctoral portrait.

Once the novelty and the presumptions it invoked—that Rose Lennox had had a heart after all—faded, no one thought much of it after the first day or so, but it was this new old photo that sent Neville out on the moor to work off fruitless rages. Whether coming and going from patients, riding his horse to exhaustion, or wearing out the soles of his shoes as he tramped through the bleak expanse, he found reasons to stay out of the house whenever the heady cocktail of betrayal, yearning and despair threatened to pull him under. 

Neville had taken the picture years ago. Though he had no skill in photography, it had been child's play to freeze Lily's beauty and joy in a moment in time. Rose had seen him with it later that evening, wanting a distraction from Lily and Archie dancing in the ballroom, and demanded to have it.

While he'd nursed a half-formed idea of giving it to Lily himself, he'd relented, in the hope Rose would do so. That the extra exchange of hands would somehow... mean more. The colder sister shining a light on a prospect the achingly beautiful Lily had never considered, and once she did, once Lily understood, he'd have the best of rewards for all his long months of patient waiting...

He had gotten swept up in the possibility of the fairy tale. Archie hadn't proposed at that time, and even now he was sure that if Lily had seen his love for her through the picture she—

But the selfish woman had kept it for herself, and passed it on to her daughter in what Neville was sure had been either a rare moment of sentiment, or another scrap of passive aggressive affection.

***

Today the Yorkshire gloom had turned into a relentless downpour, trapping everyone indoors. If it became a true storm, as it was threatening, it could reak havoc on a house as old as this, but Archie was making note of likely repairs that would be attended to afterward. Lily assisted, but often grew restless being cooped up for hours, and Neville could usually draw her into conversation that never lasted long enough.

Yet when he finally went in search of her after a prudent amount of time shut in his study, lantern in hand, she was absent from the usual places. Finally out of options, he approached Mary's sitting room.

"Columbine's a member of the buttercup family," Lily was saying. "I haven't planted any yet because Mrs. Sowerby always manages to find the best seeds. Dickon and Martha must be telling her what fine work you've been doing, or he wouldn't have given them to you."

"Oh, can I really plant them in your garden, Aunt Lily! The poppies and lilacs too?"

"Only if you finish all the mathematics problems you were set."

"That's not fair!"

"Yes it is."

"It is, but I don't like it! I learn about numbers while gardening. And languages, and science, and all sorts of things. Can't you just teach me everything?"

The rest of the inane conversation was lost amid a clap of thunder, then a burst of chatter from a gaggle of passing servants as they set out lanterns and candles, but he caught a set of footfalls as someone crossed to the door. He retraced his steps so as to look like he was just entering the corridor as Lily emerged, bearing a cold tea-tray.

"I should have known you'd be seeing to Mary before the rest of us got around to it," he called.

Lily smiled. "She always likes a cup of tea after her lessons. I've been helping her with her writing assignment, but if I don't leave her alone for a little while she'll distract us both from schoolwork."

"The girl would spend all her time as your shadow if she could." He turned the way he'd come, beckoning her to fall into step beside him. She complied (but would never take his hand the way she would Archie's, even without the tray).

"You should leave that for the servants," he chided.

"That's what Mary said. Since I fixed it when no one was in the kitchen the least I can do is bring it down for cleaning."

She looked lost in thought, then said, "I told her—Mary, when I first saw her—that she looked like Rose and Albert, but the more time she spends outdoors the more I have to admit she looks like me."

"There is a resemblance. Though your hair is more..." He forced himself to look out the rain-drenched window they passed rather than at her hair. "She might acquire more self-discipline if she were sent to a proper boarding school. I'm sure Albert would have appreciated Mary acquiring more of that ability."

He'd been keen on this idea the moment Lily and Archie had decided to take the girl in, worried she would upset Lily by reminding her too much of Rose. However, once the girl had been resigned to sharing her cousin's education, and his anxiety had turned out to be unfounded, Neville's wish to see things done properly meant he brought up the idea whenever applicable.

"Perhaps, but there's plenty of time for that."

"A couple of years at most. For Colin too if he is to attend university."

"He doesn't have to; his father's smart enough to teach him once he's outgrown a governess. And children grow up fast enough without you speeding them along." Her voice was gentle as always, but her beautiful eyes seemed to darken in the wavering light.

"Of course. Have you been resting today?"

"I was reading when I wasn't going over the house with Archie."

"Not too much," he cautioned. It's bad for the eyes."

Lily frowned. "I haven't had nearly as many aches or spasms with Mary to help me."

"But you have been exerting-"

"Lily." Archie strode out of the library, glowering as he brandished a catalogue. "Are these really the only advertisements for children's toys?"

"Yes, Archie. I told you you'd find them disappointing. The ones from Paris are a little more colorful, but nothing that I think would fit Mary's taste."

"It's outrageous! These places are expected to cater to children of every interest, and yet I can't even find a doll's house with something resembling a garden."

"We have a lot of time before her birthday," Lily soothed, easing forward to rest the offending brochure from his hand, before crumpling it and stuffing it into the empty teapot. "And I'm sure by then you will have earned her love without a present. She likes you."

"Not as much as she likes you, which is perfectly understandable."

"So you want to buy her affection away from me?" Her eyes widened in mock-affront.

"Not all of it." Archie's lips curved in a teasing smile. "Just a quarter or so and I shall do very well."

"Well, since we've already promised to teach her to ride when the weather clears, you can't buy her a pony-"

"Lily, we'll do a checkup later?"

She gave a fleeting nod. And though neither of them noticed Neville continue his lonely, and now even more aimless, stroll through the manor, he felt a sharp burst of cruel satisfaction as worry flickered in Archie's eyes.

The storm finally broke, shaking the roof overhead.

***

When Lily had gone into labor early, due to falling on her back from a broken branch of the tree she still kept alive for its rose vines, Neville had moved into Misselthwaite for everyone's convenience. An overly-worried Archie had phoned the hospital along with the midwife, but the driver had been made to wait outside when it'd seemed as though all would be well. Colin had been born, sickly and feeble, leaving Lily very weak and only able to recover because no one had stopped Martha from fetching the ambulance.

For the first two days of Colin's life his mother stayed in a private room under the administrations of surgeons. She returned home once she was out of danger, and at her insistence that her brother-in-law would see to the remainder of her recovery, and both brothers breathed easier for it.

The hours he'd spent day after day nursing the beautiful woman he loved, but who did not love him, broke and mended his heart. He drew strength from her beauty, breathed in the scent of her hair, filled his ears and mind with the contents of her thoughts, and woke every night from dreams where she gazed adoringly at him from the circle of his arms.

In time Lily had returned to his brother's embraces. He had thought to gain her praise through helping Colin, but Lily had been reproving of his treatment, even though he had won Archie to his side. In the end she'd been right, going against his and Archie's wishes.

But then, from the time Neville had known her she had looked beneath the surface of things; no caring woman would have chosen his brother over him, for all that Archie had more money and status.

He hadn't moved out, a decision borne of refusing to let anyone suspect his pride had been wounded, and in case either of his fleeting former patients and beloved family needed him. He took calls in the village and even in town when need be, though he was by no means the areas only doctor.

Now, all these years later, he found himself once again spending prolonged hours in her company due to her health, and coming up against her indomitable will. A few weeks before Mary Lennox's arrival, Lily had seen him about a slight pain in her elbow. It was a common garden injury, but her body was more susceptible to the negative affects of muscle strain. And if he exaggerated the severity of her occasional pains in order to have the full weight of her attention, knowing that Archie would insist he do whatever he could?

He was in love with her; always had been. And no one in love had ever claimed their actions were rational. Besides, he had tried seeing other women off and on for years once Colin was out of danger, and every night would come home to Lily's eyes and the knowledge that he would do anything to make her smile.

His brother, nephew and niece by marriage were riding on the moor, taking full advantage of the now fine weather, while they were secluded in his study in Misselthwaite. He'd thought Mary would ruin his plan until Dickon offered to tag along with his pony so the party would be even, if not an even number of boys and girls.

He tenderly applied a salve to Lily's arms and shoulders as she ventured, "why don't you ever ride for pleasure anymore?"

"It's rather a younger man's occupation."

"You're hardly old, Neville. And when you aren't working you seem so... unhappy."

He managed to hand her a cooling mug of broth from a side table, but stood rooted to the spot by her searching gaze as she cupped it between her palms.

"I do not want you to think that I resent any of the decisions I've made," Neville said huskily after what felt like ages.

"Of course not. I'm not suggesting you become a slave to your work, just'''. Oh, I don't know. I suppose after Mary I'm rather keen to fix all sorts of unhappiness. And that's made me wonder whether," she paused, took a swallow of broth, then went on, "whether I've been unfair to you."

"What do you mean?"

"I was angry with you those first few months Colin was born. You nearly made Archie terrified for Colin to even look at him. I had to put an end to that, and the best way was to prove that Colin could go outdoors, same as any other child. You were wrong and I turned out to be right, but I never intended to make you feel obsolete."

"You need not fear on that account." It was the truth when it came to his profession, and her answering smile lessened the sting when his mind drifted to their personal lives. He could not truly be angry at her decision when the bulk of his frustration was due to him never voicing his feelings.

He moved to drape a blanket across her shoulders, but Lily shifted to the side and held up a stalling hand. "I don't need to be swaddled. I'm not sore. Do you have any other work to do today?"

"No."

"Than why don't we try to catch up with the others. I'll sit pillion so I won't get sore from any real riding."

"Another time, Lily. You need rest. Even with the storm you ran yourself so ragged you were falling asleep at the dinner table."

"I'm not used to running up stairs after two children, even if we came down by sliding on the stair rails. You know the best way to drown out a storm is to make your own noise, and I can't remember hearing such a horrible wail. Not since I was a child."

"You know, I was looking into the Aberdeen School for Girls," he pressed. "They teach singing-"

"Oh, not now. The garden's at its prettiest in the summer and she should see it. She'll enjoy it more since she's had a hand in so much of the planting."

"Then we should at least arrange an interview with plans for Mary to attend in the fall."

"Why are you so keen on sending her away? I know she can be a handful, she and Colin have twice bullied Martha into letting them stay up late with curses from India. But that's only because Martha was silly enough to tell Mary she believes in spirits, and curses, and charms, and fairies. If Archie and I can't get there in time Mrs. Medlock sets them right, and they listen to you too."

"It amuses you," he said without humor, watching her eyes twinkle. "Even when she's a bad influence on Colin?"

"You must admit it's a creative way to throw a tantrum," she laughed, then squelched her disapproval at his lack of reaction with her last swallows of broth. "They do as they're told by the right people, and they're only children. Colin has more influence over Mary, if only because she wants to prove she can be as good as he is. Archie and I thought a governess was the best immediate solution for her education while she grieved and got to know us all, but she's positively terrified of being sent away."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you think I'd let anyone take advantage of Martha, Neville? The second time she fell for the idea she was cursed I had a talk with Mary, and she got herself all worked up when I said I wouldn't have Martha being part of a trick she didn't laugh at."

"That could have been another creative way to throw a tantrum. I'd hate to see you taken advantage of because of a maid."

Under his intense gaze she blushed and stood.

"I'll rest in my room," she said stiffly.

He grabbed her shoulder before she could leave. The urge to hold her swept over him, and his grip tightened to keep it in check.

"I'm sorry, Lily. I like things to be done a certain way. You know that."

"You've been known to find value in change. I'm living proof of that, and haven't I shown I can be trusted after all this time?"

"This isn't about trust," Neville snapped. He had to make her see. "This is about your safety, your health. I know how much you love gardening, but you must stop before it kills you! What breaks you've been taking haven't been nearly effective enough."

"My garden won't kill me."

"It almost did, and I won't lose you again!"

"Then come to the garden with me. Monitor my progress while I work."

It was a logical solution, and the most painful experience he could imagine undertaking. Archie always made time to help or watch Lily garden, and the two always returned looking as happy and besotted as newlyweds.

"What do you think keeping me locked up will accomplish?" Lily asked in response to his silence.

"You will be safe from further injury."

He felt her shoulders square in sudden decision, and relinquished his grip, letting her leave as she intended. But instead of watching the back of her he found himself looking into her eyes.

"Neville, I know you're in love with me. I've known for years, and I've tried to ignore it."

Her words sucked the air from the room. Half-formed hopes flashed across his mind, too quick to examine, as waves of elation and wonder crashed over him, swiftly eclipsed by disappointment.

"How?"

"All sorts of things. The way you look at me when it's only the two of us in a room; the way you watch me sometimes. For God's sake, Rose knew how you felt, and she was never very in tune with others' feelings."

"Does Archie-"

"Of course he doesn't know. But now that you're so determined to send Mary away, and keep me to yourself-"

"Lily-"

"I think a change of venue would be best for you. You can go to any of the houses in Paris, or Italy, or Switzerland. Expand your practice, if you wish."

There was no sympathy in her eyes. No understanding. Only resolve and pity.

"Yes, Lily," he replied, with as much dignity as a broken heart could muster.

She was at the door when he murmured, "Was there ever a time that you would have chosen me instead?", thinking the question too soft to hear. But Lily turned and appraised him, standing surrounded by the books, charts, and notes that were all apart of the man he was today.

Yet the recognition he'd always thought would be in her eyes if his feelings were ever made clear to her—a day that had come and gone some time ago without his knowledge—was nowhere to be found. Perhaps because she was living a life with Archie and Colin, was mistress of an estate, and guardian to a brat who loosened the foundation of the carefully crafted walls surrounding his feelings. He had dared so much in feeling, but not in action, all because of the eyes that were now wide with bemused pain.

"I was born to love Archibald Craven." She gave a helpless shrug. "You're asking me to imagine a life that I have no basis for. You're my brother-in-law, and I love you as my brother-in-law. I want you to be happy. And I hope you can come back one day, and return my feelings."

And then she left, leaving Neville to his whirling thoughts.

***

Archie was the only one to see him off on the day of his departure, full of best wishes for a fresh start and bright future. Colin and Mary had presented him with hand-made farewell cards at breakfast, and Mrs. Medlock was coolly civil, while the rest of the staff barely held in check they were pleased to see the back of him. He wasn't the master, and hadn't been in a position to give orders for years.

Lily had smiled, and given him a swift kiss on the cheek, but had been called away by Weatherstaff.

He paused in the foyer while some boys loaded his cases into the carriage. His academic contribution had been packed, but he ignored the oddity of that vacant space for one last look at the picture that could have changed everything.

"What are you doing, Neville?" asked Archie, watching him. "Trying to memorize this place?"

"Trying to remember a feeling."

His elder brother smiled, and Neville maintained a warm facade until he clambered into the carriage. He'd disappear because she wanted it, but his leaving would not entirely quell his bittersweet imaginings.

Lily, in that tree, with a heart that could still be swayed. Lily, who made him feel complete and alive. Lily, with eyes that only saw him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More to come soon, and it's happier!


	4. There We Will Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Craven men reflect on the women in their lives.

Colin hadn't had any expectations about having a girl cousin come to live with them, only questions. Would she look different, yellow or brown like the pictures Father had shown him, or like Martha chattered about to the other maids? Would she be like Martha, fun and smart, but easy to scare, or Dickon, good with animals and growing things, and shy unless you got him talking about things that excited him?

And when it came to their family would she be more like his mother or hers? From what the servants and Father said, and didn't say, Aunt Rose had been pretty ("Not as pretty as your mother, least not to my mind when I saw her the once," Martha had confided), selfish, spoiled, and horrible.

Or would she be more like Uncle Albert, who everyone said was nice and a gentleman, and who Colin privately thought must have been put under some charm to marry Aunt Rose.

Mary had been pale, peaky, and horrible in the beginning, so that for the first few days Colin had thought Uncle Neville's plan—which he'd overheard Martha and Mrs. Medlock talking about—to send her to school a brilliant idea. But she'd become much nicer and more fun after Mother had taken her into the garden. That wasn't a surprise; Mother's garden had made him walk and grow strong.

The only question Colin hadn't answered to his satisfaction about his cousin was when she'd get tired of treating normal things like miracles.

"It's a bud!" she cried, not too loud to startle the robins. "Yesterday the poppy was still a seed and today it's germinated"—she enunciated each syllable of the word with a smug look—"into a bud!"

"Flowers do that all the time," said Colin evenly.

"But this is my flower!" Mary crowed. "Why did Aunt Lily have to go into town today, she could have seen it."

"Because it's her and Father's anniversary in a few days. She probably went to get his present."

Mary frowned, her usual expression after receiving new information that changed something about how she thought things should be. "So why hasn't Uncle Archie left to get Aunt Lily's present?"

Colin grinned. "He's probably taking care of it now that you're out of the house, since you can't keep a secret."

"I can so!"

"You told Dickon about that animal book I wanted to surprise"—he imitated her lofty manner of saying germinated—"him with."

Mary swiftly scooped top soil into a towel, levered it back with her free hand, and released it like a catapult. The soil flew and would have landed on Colin's forehead if he hadn't snatched at the nearest tree branch, and swung up onto it out of range.

"Master Colin," Martha scolded, as one of his flailing feet kicked at a vine. "Do'st thou think I'll save thee from the Madam's temper if you damage her pretty roses?" He glanced down in time to see her spread a blanket on the ground, making the basket on her arm swing. "Now come and have your lunch. Miss Mary, go and wash your hands."

"It was self-defense," Colin protested, but he lowered himself carefully to the ground and searched the roses for any breakages.

He'd have to work with Ben if any flowers were really ruined, who could be a strict taskmaster, and while Mother wouldn't have the work be long for an accident, Colin hated her being sad. She wasn't normally, and seeing her that way before Mary came had been scary.

The roses were intact, so as he rinsed his hands in the pan of water always filled for that reason he asked, "Father isn't joining us?"

"Your father is gittin the music selections in order," Martha beamed, anger forgotten as she stepped toward the door. "He said it'd take awhile and thought neither of you would mind eating out here."

Colin shook his head as he munched on a loaf of bread.

"Is that the secret?" Mary asked before biting into a roasted egg.

"Heavens no! They dance in the ballroom every year."

"With guests?"

"No," Colin answered as Martha left the garden. "We only have a fancy party at Christmas. If you'd come a bit earlier you could have been there. Mother and Father open up the manor to anyone who wants to come—the rest of Dickon and Martha's family always do, and there's so much food they have to take baskets and baskets of it home."

When he was sure Martha was out of earshot he said, more solemnly, "You'll get to join the party for as long as you want. It's not like the parties you're used to."

Her face brightened. Colin was the only one who knew how much Mary hated being left out of things.

After he'd refused to share aloud a book of poetry that had made him laugh she hadn't talked to him for a full two days, except when adults were around. He'd asked what was the matter when offering her the book didn't resolve things (Mary was a slow reader, but could understand things), and she'd explained that she'd thought Colin had liked spending time with her, "Unlike Mother, who'd rather have a party with her friends. Before they all died."

He'd been careful about leaving her out of things ever since, making sure she knew she was invited to do or read something with him, or shortly after he was done.

"So what normally happens for their anniversary?" Mary asked after several swallows of milk.

"They show each other how much they love each other. Isn't that what all parents do?"

"Not at their homes. My parents always went out to celebrate."

"They dance and give each other presents, but they wait until after bedtime to do that... Mother always makes the same kind of food every year, I don't know why. But she'll let me help if I like, even though she won't let Cook go near it."

They gobbled down the rest of their food, gathered a few mounds of worms and seeds to leave for the robins, then raced each other to the stables. Colin won, but not by much, and Mary beat him in their pony race.

***

Colin staggered out of Mother's music room, arms full of the plump cushions. Dumping them into the next room where they were making the howdah, he looked around for Mary... then backed out when he realized she wasn't there.

"You're the one who wanted to stop the game to make this!" he called up to Mary, catching sight of her with Mother on the landing above.

Mother blinked. "You didn't say you were in the middle of a game. What are you making?"

"A howdah," said Mary.

"A what?"

"A covered seat for riding on the back of an elephant. We can't do anything about not having an elephant, but it will be easier to pretend if we've got something close to a howdah."

"Until you decide not to make one. Mistress Mary quite," Colin broke off singing as Mother loomed at him over the rail. The tension, like she was about to run down the stairs to make him eat those words, eased out of Mary.

"I wanted to know what Aunt Lily had bought," she explained, eyes straying to the garment bag Mother was holding. "A dress for their anniversary."

"Can you show us Father's present?" he asked as he came to join them on their landing.

Mother's eyes danced. "Since our anniversary's tomorrow, I really should show someone before I give away the secret. Follow me."

She led them to the attic, moved aside some crates to uncover a bag tucked into a dark corner, which she opened to reveal-

"A book?" If Mary tried at all to hide her disapproval she was terrible at it.

"A rare edition of fairy tales," Mother corrected with that distant soppy look she got whenever she or Father were lost in thoughts about each other, or being especially gross. "It's from Persia."

They both nodded. Father would love it even if they'd have wanted something different.

"You know, there are so many odds and ends in this room I'm surprised neither of you took anything from here for your howdah."

That was all the encouragement they needed to start opening crates and looking through shelves. Mother helped, finding and hooking together some dust coverings that could be used for the canopy.

"Why did you keep them?" Mary wanted to know.

"A lot of rooms weren't in use when I married your uncle. But after we made a music room and a second library we didn't need to cover up all the furniture, and someone took the trouble to make these coverings so pretty. It seemed unkind to throw them away; and look what use they're being put to now."

They continued the game, an expedition to the jungle to find more white tigers like the one caught by a maharaja, and took turns telling Mother and Father about it at dinner.

***

As was tradition they skipped dinner, but spent the time with their son—and now their niece. Mary was a little more resentful of bedtime than usual, annoyed that she couldn't help or watch Lily prepare for the night when they tucked her in, once the story and lullaby (which now took place in the library) were through.

At the sight of his wife entering the ballroom in a frothy lacy white gown he couldn't hold it against her. The candle-filled chandeliers of the opulent room provided the only illumination, and Lily Craven was rendered a fairy tale princess in the soft, shimmering light as she layed a table in front of a low sofa with a package wrapped in brown paper that had been tucked under her arm, before taking napkins, teapot, two teacups, a pitcher of cream, oatcakes, a jar of plumbs, and two slices of a layered reddish colored cake with cream cheese frosting from a basket.

"The kitchen staff wouldn't let you collect our usual fare without foisting some new dessert on us?"

"It's called red velvet cake. And "there's enough for the children to enjoy it for the next five nights if they wish."

"We give them the night off and they still find ways to spoil us."

"They're very appreciative of such a kind, clever, funny employer." She gave his dark suit an appraising look, eyes filled with a mix of adoration and affection when they finally met his. "Though not nearly as appreciative as I am of my kind, clever, funny and effortlessly charming husband."

"None of which I would be without loving you, and wanting to be lucky enough to be worthy of you."

"This place always looks incredible every year," Lily sighed, crossing from the table to join him at the center of the dance floor. "And smells like"—she inhaled deeply—"edelweiss?"

"Presents first." He handed her the bouquet of small, white bright flowers from behind his back. "Happy anniversary, my lady fair."

"Happy anniversary, my dearest, bravest knight!" She took a moment to bury her nose in the light fragrance, then lifted her head and fixed him with an irrepressible smile that he suspected most women wore after receiving jewels or expensive clothes.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him as if for the first time. (Perhaps with a bit more giddiness and enthusiasm then she'd shown with the kiss that had begun their relationship.)

"I love you. You ordered these all the way from Switzerland."

The country known for its flowers had been their first stop on their honeymoon, followed by Provence and Paris France. 

"Ben already has a spot in the garden staked out where you can replant them."

"Would running out to ask him to take care of it now be excessive?"

"Don't you want to take care of it yourself?"

"Now that I'm here, I'm not leaving you alone in the ballroom for as long as you want to stay."

"Then it's a very good thing Ben's waiting outside the door."

His grin widened at her surprise, and he watched contentedly as, blossoms clutched to her heart, she rushed to the ballroom doors, flung them open, and began speaking animatedly with Ben. Once the gamekeeper and bouquet were gone she retrieved the package and thrust it into his hands.

"Your turn!"

They examined the book together as they feasted on a recreation of the first meal they'd shared, as well as the cake that signified how far they had come since then. After setting everything back in the basket for the servants to take away in the morning, Archie turned on the phonograph and an orchestra filled the space. They danced to waltz after waltz, sometimes talking, sometimes not.

"Our son and ward are perhaps too adventurous for their own good," Lily concluded during one bout of conversation, relaying a frozen duck pond escapade.

"We should look into skating lessons for both of them. And swimming lessons when the weather changes. If they carry on like this treading water will only get them so far."

"I never know which I feel more strongly. Regret that we didn't try to have another child after Colin's health improved, or relief, because then we'd be dealing with three children all around the same age, and might never sleep."

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask what she thought about having another child now, but their steps carried them towards the door, and he caught sight of a child-shaped shadow too small to be Colin. He tightened his hold about Lily's waist, smiling as she looked into his face, before bending her backward to give her a glimpse of their audience. He picked her up on one arm and spun her beneath the ceiling of twinkling candlelights.

Her laughter washed over him, rich as the red velvet cake. He loved being the cause of that sound, of the bulk of the expressions she'd worn tonight, and felt his heart melt as completely as it had when he'd learned his feelings were returned, or when she'd accepted his proposal.

He kissed her on the lips, the forehead, each hazel eye. She tugged him toward a darkened corner of the ballroom and when he next looked, the shadow had either gone of her own accord or been taken back to bed.

When the music finally ended and the glow of candles had been replaced by the flicker of predawn light, they exchanged the ballroom for their bedroom.

"What were you going to ask me earlier, before you saw Mary? I didn't mean to distract you from whatever it was afterward."

When he was silent, she turned from her dressing table to where he perched on the edge of their bed, watching her brush out her hair.

He banished her concerned gaze with a tentative smile. "Would now be a good time to talk about having another child?"

***

"Now... One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three. And spin into me. And twirl. And remember to keep focusing on that one thing or you'll get dizzy—"

The warning came too late.

Mary tripped on the hem of her lace dress, knocking into him. He felt her overbalance even more and pulled her into him, so when the two of them sprawled in a tangled heap onto the ballroom floor he took the brunt of the fall. She rose first and held out her hand, which he took with a laugh before turning off the music.

Mary smoothed her skirts with a self-reproaching frown. She wore an old dress of Lily's, retrieved from the attic while they'd slept late the morning after their anniversary, that was too long and too large, even riddled with pins. He and Lily had said they'd send it to a seamstress when she asked if she could keep it, but after staying up watching them waltz, Mary had been impatient to try learning to dance in it.

Archie had offered his services, and found teaching her to follow a lead one of the highlights of his day, with one flaw that was neither his nor his pupil's fault. Seeing how desperately Mary wanted to be like her aunt, from her desire to learn everything Lily knew about gardens to the way she carefully, adamantly tried to make her steps as graceful and lithely as what she'd seen that night, made him furious with her late mother. Not because he minded Mary's imitation—both he and Lily saw more of the other in their son than themselves—but because it showed just how little time Rose had spent with a determined, hardworking, sweet, engaging child.

"Did Aunt Lily really dance in this dress like she did the other night?" she asked wistfully.

"Yes. But you're getting much better, two days in and you've stopped stepping on my feet."

"And spinning into you too hard," she added eagerly even while her cheeks flooded with red.

""Your aunt was older than you when I held that ball. You shouldn't compare yourself to her."

"Is that where my mother and father met?"

"No. They met the first time the military came to the area, though Albert was one of your mother's more persistent swains that night."

"Were you persistent with Aunt Lily?"

"Well, I held the ball because I wanted to show her she didn't have to go to London to dance. However, if it had been left to me I only would have said three words to her the entire evening. 'Good evening' and 'goodnight'."

"You're lucky Aunt Lily wasn't as silly as you."

He laughed. "I thank God every day for that."

It had been the first ball he'd held in this house with the barely acknowledged hope of spending more time with Lily.

Though he'd followed Lily's, and some of Rose's, ideas to the letter, he hadn't been prepared to see her that night. Radiant in evening wear, hair artfully arranged, bursting into his gloomy home, breathtaking and brighter than daybreak. She'd seemed worlds away from the gardener with dirt under her fingernails, heedless of her muddy skirts and shoes as she knelt over her bounty; and he was sure his hump, reclusiveness, and host of other unattractive qualities were unavoidably clear when in a room full of captains, lieutenants, and other handsome, brave, outgoing men.

Mary hiked up her skirt. "I'm ready to try again."

Archie bowed to his niece, who bobbed a wobbly curtsy, other hand outstretched. He took it. They tried waltzing around the ballroom one more time before Mary conceded defeat and agreed to let the dress be (briefly, he enthusiastically assured) sent away for alterations.


	5. Come Sweet Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end, of a sort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My plan was to have this chapter written last week and posted at least by Wednesday of this week, because I was part of a singing performance this last Monday (a day after my birthday) I knew would eat my life. I was right because it led to some lovely nights of insomnia that put me behind schedule in writing, but my sleep got straightened out, the performance was a blur and a blast (as was my birthday), the first draft took more rewrites than usual, and if there's anything you dislike about it blame it on... wavering stress levels (and in general, please tell me if you think I need to improve on anything; constructive crit is my friend).

Spring, ("When people get ta be as wick as plants and animals," said Ben) came and went too quickly for Mary's liking. At least until she realized the glorious difference between spring and summer was more sunshine, which caused breathtaking wave upon wave of flowers in Aunt Lily's garden.

"There isn't anywhere or anything more beautiful in the whole country!" Mary picked a daisy, several white roses, and an iris.

"I never thought I'd hear myself say this, but there is such a thing as too many bouquets... at least in the same week before the others have dried." Heart in her throat Mary glanced at Aunt Lily, feeling it settle back into her chest upon catching sight her teasing smile.

Since she didn't have a garden of her own the closest she could come was arranging flowers in differently sized and shaped vases about the house. Most of them were in her room, but Colin, Martha, Aunt Lily and Uncle Archie had let her put one in each of theirs, and the ballroom had two.

She'd taken every kind of flower except the edelweiss, which was corded off in a little shelter of rocks to mimic its native surroundings, and thriving so well she worried picking them would kill them. Besides, they had been a present, and she couldn't help feeling a fluttering hope every time she saw them that someday a boy would give her something that made her feel the way Aunt Lily had looked.

The entire family spent hours and hours in the maze and gardens, as did everybody else who lived in the house. One day she watched, hardly believing her eyes, while Mrs. Medlock sipped lemonade and got congratulated on winning a card game with other servants by Ben. She and Colin were even allowed to read and draw outside before going on holiday.

In the evenings between dinner and bedtime, she and Aunt Lily would sing, Colin would play the piano, or Uncle Archie would read to them in the second library. Though Mary liked that library more than the main one where her aunt and uncle would sometimes work, she prefered the stories he invented.

One night, a month before her eleventh birthday, Mary plucked up the courage to show everyone what she'd learned about waltzing. They relocated to the ballroom and she and Uncle Archie danced three different types of waltzes before exhausting her knowledge.

"That was beautifully done," cried Aunt Lily after the music had stopped, "but I feel like I can say that about your lessons too."

"You've been watching us practice?" In the time it took for the words to leave her mouth Mary's shock had turned into pleasure.

"Not all the time, and not recently. It's not as though I was measuring your improvement."

Aunt Lily had shown her the charts she made for tracking flower growth ages ago when Mary had started asking why certain ones were taller than others.

"So if any of it was a secret it was how good or bad you were getting," Colin pointed out.

"Well, I know you never watched," Mary muttered.

"I knew you couldn't be bad, not with how careful you've been with Mother's old dress. It's the only thing except your night clothes that doesn't get covered in dirt."

The urge to crash into him and hit him was almost overwhelming, but even now that the lace-covered dress fit her like a glove, that wasn't the sort of thing she could risk without tearing it. Instead, she gave Colin her best imitation of Mother's glower whenever she didn't like how something had gone at a party.

"That's enough, Colin," said Uncle Archie. "Especially since Mary never did anything to prevent people from watching her dance lessons. Unlike someone I could mention who stuck whatever he could underneath the crack between the door and floor so no one could hear him practicing his first real solo in the music room."

Colin shrugged and stuck out his tongue, and Uncle Archie laughed.

A change into normal clothes and two cups of tea in the sitting room later, everyone was looking relaxed and sleepy. Mary and Colin both stood at the soft chime of a clock out in the hall, but Uncle Archie held up a hand. "Before we all go up there's something we'd like to tell you."

Aunt Lily nodded.

"We won't know for sure until tomorrow when the doctor comes, but we're reasonably certain"—he folded Aunt Lily's hand in his—"we're going to have a baby."

"I'm going to have a brother or sister?" Colin yelped, grinning.

"Or a mother who has the flu," said Aunt Lily. "Which is why we need a professional opinion. I thought I might be sick when I was pregnant with you."

Colin clearly found this second statement less interesting than the idea of a sibling, because he pressed, "Where will we put them when they're born?"

"Since we have our pick of rooms we were hoping the two of you could help us with that," Uncle Archie suggested.

"Shouldn't we wait to know what the doctor thinks first?" The question came out more snappish than Mary would have liked.

She felt her face warm as everyone looked at her. "I don't think we should count our roses before they bloom."

"Quite right," Aunt Lily agreed, smiling at the expression only the two of them used.

The next afternoon she pretended not to hear Colin's call when the doctor came and everyone else went inside. She wasn't sure how she felt about a baby cousin. Although even in India everyone had said children were a blessing, Mother had told her two best friends (who'd also died of the cholera) that she would only have another child if they could afford another Ayah, and if she could be sure it wasn't a boy.

Her aunt and uncle wouldn't care about servants—or whether the baby was a boy or girl—which only meant they'd be busy doing things for the baby by themselves, when Martha and Dickon and Ben and all the others weren't doing work for it; and Colin would help. She didn't want any of them taken away from her just yet, except perhaps Mrs. Medlock, her least favorite person in the house. She hadn't even gotten a year with them.

Mary kept these thoughts to herself because Dickon and Martha were used to brothers and sisters, and Colin had gotten enough years with his parents to want to spend time away from them, even if he didn't want to go to boarding school like most boys who'd someday inherit a house. Ben and Dickon noticed her mood, but the old man let her be, and on their way out of the maze she lied a little and told Dickon she was worried about Aunt Lily.

"If she has got the flu, she's a smart woman," Dickon assured her. "She knows when to be an obedient patient and when to challenge a doctor's orders. She did the second after Colin wasn't gettin stronger bein locked up in his room. Took 'im right out into her garden when nobody but Martha was around, and when Mrs. Medlock thought he'd been kidnapped or some nonsense, all Martha would say was he was fine last she saw 'im."

"What happened?"

"Your aunt told the old bat she was the lady of the house and what she 'ad ta say mattered as much as the family who'd been born in it. And stopped her from making Martha lose her place."

Mary laughed. "Good. I like Martha."

"In my memory no one was ever rude enough to call me an old bat, even though I was wrong," said Mrs. Medlock briskly, stepping from around a corner.

Mary and Dickon jumped.

"Mary Lennox, your aunt and uncle want to see you." The housekeeper motioned for her to follow, casting a withering frown at Dickon's back as he vanished into the afternoon shadows.

"What do they want to see me about?" Mary asked, following the old woman.

"They didn't say. If I had to guess I'd say it was about your foolishness."

"My what?"

"You heard me. If her ladyship is having a baby you're hardly going to get thrown out. She wouldn't stand for the idea of you being sent away early on when Dr. Craven thought it would help, and she won't stand for it now. Neither will your uncle, both because he cares about you himself and because he'll walk the world over to get your aunt a blade of grass she wants."

"Why are you telling me this?" Mary asked softly, a little stunned.

"Because if there's going to be another child in this house we need calm. There will be enough excitement when it arrives, especially since the mistress almost died the last time she gave birth. You'll have to do the next bit on your own."

"What do you mean by that?"

But they had arrived at the main library, and Mrs. Medlock simply announced Mary's presence before vanishing. Colin was there too, looking expectant. Uncle Archie was smiling the same nervous and excited smile he'd had after offering to teach Mary to waltz.

Only Aunt Lily looked normal, and so it was her Mary put the question to. "Are you having a baby?"

"Yes." And now the smile like when she'd gotten the edelweiss was there, and Colin was hugging both his parents, and saying how he'd already decided any room near the attic would be too far away for it.

"Well, let's take a look at some of the other rooms and see what we think," said Aunt Lily excitedly. She let Colin lead her out of the room, but not before sharing a swift look with Uncle Archie, who followed in their wake.

Her feelings now more tangled than ever Mary began to follow suit, but Uncle Archie blocked the doorway, meeting her eyes with a knowing gaze.

"Now, why are you in such a low humor?"

"Has anyone said I am?"

"You, in a way. You've hardly said a word all day, you've been diligent to the point of careless in the garden, and I've never known you to answer a question with a question. Tell me what's wrong?"

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because things need to be calm, for Aunt Lily and the baby."

"Is that what Mrs. Medlock told you?"

She nodded. Emotions flew across Uncle Archie's face too quick to understand. He looked into her eyes for some time, seeming to see something that wasn't there.

Mary looked away first.

"While I'm sure your aunt would appreciate yours and Mrs. Medlock's concern, things will be far calmer for her if I can at least tell her I've gotten to the bottom of what's troubling you."

"Some of Mother's friends had babies after I was born, and Mother always said they vanished until the servants could be trusted to be alone with them. You and Aunt Lily won't leave the baby alone with a servant, you'll play with it, and teach it things, or whatever it is people do with babies before they talk. So you'll be even more busy and vanish for even longer than Mother's friends. I'm sad about that, but please don't tell Aunt Lily. I'll—"

"Don't tell me what?" said Aunt Lily from behind her husband, who stepped back into the library to let her be the one to bar Mary's only way out.

"Where's Colin?" Mary asked instead.

"With Martha, who got roped into finding a suitable nursery." She turned to uncle Archie. "Tell me whatever it is she wants to keep quiet from me so we can find a way to fix it and have our Mary back."

"As best I can tell she seems to be laboring under the terribly wrong impression we aren't going to need her help with the baby."

"Who else is going to sing her or him "Clusters of Crocus" when I'm too tired to move?" Aunt Lily asked, her voice gentle as always but shot through with a steely tone Mary had never heard before. "The music box only ever worked on Colin nine times out of ten."

"I thought Colin and I would get the music box," said Mary glumly, thinking of the dusty box on a shelf in Colin's room.

"You might some nights," said Uncle Archie. "Things are going to be a little different for all of us for a while. But we could say the same about your arrival, and that turned out wonderfully, in my opinion."

"But you needed Dr. Craven's help at first, and then he left after being here for years and years."

"Dr. Craven realized that staying here was making him very unhappy, and he's welcome back whenever his feelings have sorted themselves out," said Aunt Lily, pulling Mary into a hug that forced the breath from her lungs.

She didn't stiffen anymore, but leaned her head into Aunt Lily as naturally as if she'd been receiving a mother's hugs all her life. It was amazing how easily you could get used to something becoming a regular occurrence.

"None of us decided to replace him with you. And we're never going to do that with you, Mary, or anyone in this house, even if Archie and I have ten more children. Is that clear."

"Yes," Mary gasped. Aunt Lily released her.

"Good. But I still don't see why I couldn't know any of this."

"It seems Mrs. Medlock, with the best of intentions, thinks you might be in danger of—" Her uncle's voice trailed off with a quaver so small Mary thought she'd imagined it, except Aunt Lily gave him such a tender look she felt a little embarrassed at seeing it.

"Medicine has changed since I last had a child," she told them both, all the softness in her eyes replaced with a fierce certainty. "And this go round I'll be starting off in hospital when the time comes."

Uncle Archie nodded. "Then let's go rescue Martha from Colin's enthusiasm."

***

A week before her birthday her aunt and uncle paused before tucking her into bed.

"What do you want for your birthday?" Aunt Lily asked.

"Oh, I'm fine. The cake's being made to my specifications and I can't get Colin, Martha or Dickon to tell me what they're getting me."

"But what should we get you?" Uncle Archie prompted.

"Might I—" A yawn cut her question short and she tried again. "Might I have a bit of earth?"

"A bit of earth?" he echoed.

"To plant seeds in, yes. A garden. I know I didn't do well with the poppy, I know it died, but I'd be indigent—"

"Diligent," Uncle Archie corrected, laughter in his eyes and voice.

"Yes. And I promise I can do better about planting things."

"I told you, cold snaps can come up at the oddest of times," said Aunt Lily, smoothing Mary's hair off her forehead. "I've had hundreds of flowers die over the years."

"So, does that mean I can have one?" she asked sleepily, snuggling lower under the covers.

Uncle Archie and Aunt Lily looked at each other, having an entire conversation with their eyes.

"You shall have your earth," said Uncle Archie.

"Thank you," said Mary, smiling into her pillow.

***

"Can I open them?" she asked, eyes still closed.

"All right... now!" said Colin, lowering his hand from in front of her face. "Happy birthday, Mary!"

Mary blinked at Aunt Lily's garden door, then stared uncomprehendingly at Uncle Archie, Colin, Martha, Dickon, Ben, and Aunt Lily's grinning faces. "I don't understand. Is my garden somewhere nearby?"

"Dear Mary, you're looking at it," said Aunt Lily. "I won't be able to work in the garden forever, certainly not as hard as I'd like to for a little while because of the baby, and in the long term I'm getting older. I want to give it into the care of someone now while I can still give advice and enjoy it." Her grin turned impish. "And perhaps you'll let me do a little work every now and then."

"But you have Ben."

"Who will always be a wonderful help, but not an owner."

"And perfectly happy ta be nothin but," said Ben gruffly.

"Besides," said Aunt Lily, pitch dropping in an overblown Yorkshire accent as she shot a teasing glance at Ben, "Ben sometimes ignores me advice an'a makes twice as much work for us all."

Mary turned to Colin. "But don't you want it?"

Her voice came out more shakily than she would have liked.

"He's had plenty of time to tell us so," said Uncle Archie, smiling, as Colin nodded in agreement.

"I'm going to be master of this whole place someday. And you love the garden the way Mother does."

"Mary Lennox, there are three things that you must never question, not for a moment." Uncle Archie held up a finger. "For as long as you will have us, we are yours, Lily and Colin and I." He held up another finger. "And this is your home."

He held up a third finger, but it was Aunt Lily, holding out the familiar gleaming bit of iron, who said, "And this, my sweet child, is the key to your garden."

She snatched it in her fist before hugging them both, careful not to squeeze Aunt Lily too hard.

***

The pain that woke her four minutes from one o'clock in the morning was familiar, and sent her heart simultaneously racing with premature delight and sinking with resignation. The carriage was needed to get them cross the moor, but she was bundled into a car for the rest of the journey to hospital, Archie's hand holding hers all the while.

"Any horrible things I'm going to say to you, I don't mean them," she said on uneven breaths once she had been settled in her room, and the nurse had vanished with one last dubious look at Archie that had more to do with his presence than his hump.

"You will probably mean half of them."

"A quarter."

"I won't take them personally whichever the percentage."

Hours later, exhausted in a way she had never been, for after Colin's birth there had been an immediate sense that something was not right, she waited while her squalling child was examined, then gazed down at the newest addition to her family, overcome with too many emotions to name. Those feelings doubled when the baby was put into Archie's arms, and she witnessed their first interaction.

"I think the name we picked suits," he said, one eye on her, the other on the infant cradled to his chest.

"Like with Colin, we're lucky. Lucky to have two perfect, beautiful children."

He eased closer, kissing her forehead before a nurse ushered him away so "Mum and baby can be tidied a wee bit more". Once she was sitting up in bed, propped up by pillows, he was at her side the second he was permitted, looking radiant even to her acutely tired-yet-alert state of mind.

"The children are here with Mrs. Medlock. She says they wouldn't settle to anything once they were told where we were."

"Are they awake?"

"No, but I don't think they'd like being let to sleep when they were 'low to come here." He was ecstatic, aquiver to share their happiness, and she waved him on with a nod and a smile that was as much for her adoration of his slipping into Yorkshire as his infectious answering grin. The flicker of concern that unbroken sleep might be best vanished at the sight of them walking toward her, looks of nervousness melting into relief.

When the three of them were gathered around her bed, she murmured, "Colin, Mary, this is Anna."

Colin held out his arms eagerly, accepting his sister with all his father's tenderness. "I'm Colin. I'm your brother."

She cooed at him, and he stared with rapt attention at her for some moments before holding her out to Mary, as carefully as when he replaced robin chicks in their nests.

Mary curled her arms with reverent care around the little bundle. "I'm Mary Lennox. We're cousins."

Her voice came out higher than usual. "I don't know anything about babies."

"I'm counting on you to help me teach her all about gardens," said Lily seriously.

"Of course." Mary's voice was level and free of nerves now; she fixed her eyes back on Anna. "I will. I promise!"

And indeed a few months later, after they had both been discharged, and after the house had adjusted to its world revolving around the youngest member of the family at odd hours, one fine day with her daughter snug in her arms, Lily settled onto the blanket that awaited them in Mary's garden. As the others began to arrive one by one, she and Mary pointed out every one of the five flowers from the lullaby, the hazel eyes, still too large for her little face, following their every movement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we are!! It felt fitting to end the fic as close to the musical as I could while also showing the effects of Lily living, which is why, in a nod to the musical, she begins and ends the piece. Also, in my head Mary's birthday falls after the events of the musical, and is never mentioned in it because, let's be honest, everyone has way bigger fish to fry, and would get to it sometime post show.  
To tease a bit of my third fic, which is being written as recently as earlier today, its povs will be: Neville, Rose, Albert, and Mary. There may be more, but those four are fixed, and of course Lily and Archie will be main figures, but it's time to let certain people wonder about them.  
Bushels of thanks to every wonderful person that's commented and left kudos!! I cannot put into words how much your feedback has meant, particularly as I struggle to get my original work published. Have a FANTASTIC rest of the week, and I'll see you soon.


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